


Four Times Dean Fussed over People

by deliriumbubbles



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 14:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16599896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliriumbubbles/pseuds/deliriumbubbles
Summary: Dean fusses over his family's injuries and illnesses. Then, he fusses over Jared's.





	Four Times Dean Fussed over People

~~Five~~ Four Times Dean Fussed Over People

 

“Darn it!”

 

Hank scrambled up until he was sitting and slapped the ground. He pulled his knee up so he could inspect the mess of blood and dirt there.

 

“Hank! Oh my glory!” Dean squealed.

 

“Aw, it’s nothing.”

 

Dean crouched beside Hank and looked at his knee. Then, he jumped up and grabbed Hank’s hand. “We gotta go inside and clean it before we have to amputate!”

 

“I don’t want to. I want to keep riding. Pop just fixed up those hover bikes—“

 

“They’re too big for us, Hank. Pop said we couldn’t yet! Why do you have to do such dangerous stuff all the time!” Dean tugged on Hank’s arm, ineffectually, until Hank finally grumbled and pushed himself up.

 

“We’re eight, now. We’re not babies! I don’t see why we can’t use that stuff Pop’s been trying to fix up.”

 

“Because he said so.”

 

“That’s a stupid reason.”

 

Dean led Hank into the bathroom. “Well, then, because you fell off it and hurt yourself. You always fall and hurt yourself!”

 

“I don’t always. When do I always!”

 

Dean blinked and turned sullenly to the medicine cabinet. That had been a dream. That time he’d seen Hank jump off the roof. Pop and Brock had said so.

 

“Sit,” Dean ordered.

 

Hank obeyed, but he looked out the door, like he was itching to run outside and get on the bike again. Dean jumped, reaching for the alcohol. Then he lifted himself up onto the sink, sitting on his knees as he grabbed everything he needed. After he hopped down, Hank was looking at him.

 

“What?”

 

“Like that’s not dangerous.”

 

Dean looked up at the cabinet. “It’s not that far.”

 

“Whatever. Don’t come cryin’ to me when you fall and break your head.”

 

“You’ll break your head,” Dean shot back. He knelt on the floor and started to dab alcohol against the scrape. Hank jerked away. “Stay still!”

 

“It hurts!”

 

“Then don’t do stupid stuff, and it won’t hurt!” Dean dabbed more gently anyway. First the alcohol, then the ointment, and then he slowly placed gauze over Hank’s knee and taped it down. “There. All better.”

 

Dean smiled up at Hank, then placed a light kiss on it.

 

“Aw, I don’t need those anymore.” Hank toed the bathroom tile. “Maybe give it one more. It hurt a lot.”

 

Dean beamed. “Okay!”

 

* * *

 

Dean didn’t have enough hands. He looked at Brock’s door and bit his lip and took a big, big breath, then he tapped his elbow on the doorframe before edging the door open a crack.

 

“It’s me. Don’t knock me out, okay?”

 

“Stay outta here,” Brock grumbled. His voice was even lower than normal, rough and cutting out like it hurt him to talk.

 

Dean poked his head inside. “Helper made soup, and I grilled you a cheese.”

 

Brock was facing the wall and lifted his head grumpily. He saw Dean there, all wide eyes and hope, and waved him over. Dean set the tray down on Brock’s nightstand, and Brock pushed himself up.

 

“Your dad’s gonna be mad if you get sick, too. You get sick, then Hank’ll get sick, and then your dad’ll get sick, and we’ll never hear the end of it.”

 

Dean thought for a moment, then pulled his shirt up over his nose and breathed through it. Brock chuckled. Smiling a little, Dean cleared away a bunch of crumpled up tissues and put them in the trash.

 

Brock shook his head and reached for the large glass of ginger ale on the tray. “You wash those hands real good before you touch your face or eat anything. Promise?”

 

“I will.” Dean shifted his weight and dug his toe into the rug. “Do y’need anything?”

 

“Nope. I been takin’ care of myself a long time. I know how to do it.”

 

Dean frowned. Then he said, his voice soft and muffled from under his shirt, “But, you don’t have to. _We’re_ here.”

 

“You know I work for your dad, right?”

 

Dean’s head tilted to the side. “I know that. Take the medicine. It’ll make you feel better.”

 

“Ugh. God, this stuff.”

 

“You make Hank and me take it when we’re sick.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s super gross.”

 

“I _know_. Hank spits it out when you leave.”

 

Brock laughed, then the laugh graduated into a cough. Dean stood up and stepped closer, but Brock held up a hand for him to keep his distance until he was finished.

 

Dean watched him worriedly. He didn’t usually come in here. He and Hank weren’t really allowed in Brock’s room. But they hadn’t been able to go out on jobs this week because Brock was sick, so things had been weird and quiet around the house.

 

“It’s just a cold, kiddo,” Brock rasped. “Everybody gets ‘em. Sucks, though. If it were some kinda superscience supervirus, your dad would be able to take care of it real quick. For a cold, though, the cure’s pretty simple: Time.”

 

“And soup,” Dean said. “That’s what you said, when we were little. Soup cures colds. So you have to eat it, even if you feel yucky.”

  
“I did say that, didn’t it?” Brock picked up the bowl in one large hand. “And _Helper_ made this?”

 

“Yup.”

 

He drank it down, then spooned the noodles. “Thank, Dean.”

 

“Hey! Unfair!” Hank called from the hall. He ran into the room. “You didn’t tell me you were coming in here! We’re not supposed to!”

 

“I was just giving him some lunch,” Dean protested.

 

“Cheater. I could make lunch.”

 

“You always burn it.”

 

“Knock it off, or you both go,” Brock warned in a croak.

 

Hank sat immediately, crossing his legs and folding his hands in the middle. Dean took his place beside his brother and sat on his heels.

 

Brock sipped the ginger ale and curved the corner of his lips just slightly. “How about you boys tell me what’s been goin’ on around the compound while I’ve been down?”

 

“Oh! Oh!” Hank bounced a little and started talking excitedly, while Brock bit into the grilled cheese and hmmed in approval.

 

Brock still looked pale and a little tired, but Dean would’ve sworn he felt better.

 

* * *

 

When their pop came home from the hospital, and Brock told both of the boys to let him be, Dean didn’t know what to think. They’d found him in his room, on the floor, and Hank had thought that maybe Baron Von Underbheit had gotten to him, or one of the other bad guys who was always doing awful stuff.

 

Dean didn’t think so. Before that had happened, Pop had seemed upset. Dean didn’t know what about, but he’d been more irritable than usual and tired all the time. Brock had said he wasn’t sick, but he looked sick and acted sick.

 

Maybe he should just let him be. Maybe Brock was right. He’d get better on his own. Dean peered into the room. It was dark in there, which was weird. When his pop was sick, he liked people to fuss over him. He’d get them to put the big TV in his room, and if he wasn’t too contagious, he’d let the boys crawl up in the bed with him.

 

He was just lying there. Was he sleeping? Dean tried to be quiet as he walked over to the bed. Pop sighed. He was awake. But he didn’t say anything.

 

Dean felt his eyes growing wet, and he didn’t know why.

 

“Do you need Helper, Pop? Or Brock?”

 

“No. I don’t need anything.”

 

Dean stood there, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. Then, he kicked off his shoes and got onto the bed. Saying nothing, he just rubbed circles on his pop’s back. Sometimes Pop did that when he or Hank were sick, and it made them feel better, for some reason.

 

Pop took another deep breath. “Thanks, sweetie.”

 

“I hope you feel better, Pop.”

 

“I will eventually. That’s something you learn when you get older. It’s not like when you boys were little and would scrape a knee and cry like you’re dying. When you’re older, you understand all the stuff you can live through. It’ll pass. I don’t know that it gets any easier, but… it passes. One way or the other.”

 

Dean rested his forehead against his pop’s shoulder. Pop reached back and patted Dean’s leg.

 

* * *

 

~~Dean dressing up like a damn clown and trying to cheer up 24 after he got stabbed, redacted!~~

 

* * *

 

It was raining so heavily that Dean could hardly see a foot in front of his face. His shoes were soaked through, and most of the lower part of his slacks were wet. He held his puffy blue and white coat together tightly and hoped his umbrella wouldn’t blow away.

 

Dean really hoped that Hank wasn’t out delivering pizzas tonight. The Go-Pod would probably get blown into the river.

 

Pushing forward through the rain, Dean made it past the last block, keeping steadily to his side of the sidewalk, the way a good New Yorker should. When he finally made it to Alphabet City Café, he muttered a thanks to whatever storm god had spared him and hurried inside.

 

It was an odd shop. He couldn’t place what kind of café it was, because it definitely wasn’t a Starbucks type, or an Americana diner type. Dean realized that he didn’t know that many types. It was just cramped restaurant with a bakery display and the smell of unfamiliar spices. A family was having dinner in the corner, but otherwise, the place was deserted. Dean took a seat near a window so he could get himself together.

 

A girl with pink and black hair leaned over the counter to tell him that he could order up there if he wanted anything. She then left him alone for several minutes before coming out with a plate with a few cookies and a glass of water.

 

“Oh, I didn’t-“

 

“It’s a shitty night, hon. We take home the extra pastries from the display at the end of the day anyway. Lemme know if you want real food, though.”

“I’m just waiting for a friend. Do you need me to order? Is that the policy? I could get some coffee.”

 

“Sure thing. We have regular coffee, good-ass diner stuff—“ She held two fingers together over her heart, like she was swearing. “And we have Vietnamese coffee, and Thai iced coffee, and green tea.”

 

Dean shucked off his coat, then pulled out his wallet (soaked) and checked to see what he had left. “Um, just a regular coffee?”

 

“Gotcha.”

 

Dean forced a smile and peered out the window. It was raining pretty hard. Who knew if you could get webbing to stick in rain like this?

 

Dean was halfway through his cup and a flakey spiced cookie with almonds when Jared finally appeared. He was wearing a long, brown coat and thick boots. He shook his head, almost carelessly. His hair was so wet that it was plastered to his forehead, but one of his extra eyes poked through.

 

Dean rose quickly and came up to greet him with a hug.

 

“Oh, no, I’m going to get you all wet!” Jared protested.

 

“I’m half-wet anyway.” Dean pulled back and moved Jared’s hair into his eyes. Then, he frowned at the bruise beginning to spread on Jared’s cheek.

 

“Oops. Well, luckily, no one out there is really looking.”

 

The two of them sat, and Jared smiled at the girl when she drifted by to refill Dean’s coffee.

 

“Buns?” she asked.

 

“Definitely, Maia. For both of us. Oh, but make his vegetarian, okay?”

 

Maia set down an extra cup for Jared and poured. “There’s some extra nankatai and jeera cookies from an order that didn’t get picked up. I’ll bring them around.”

 

“Thanks, Maia. You’re a peach.”

 

She winked as she left.

 

“I didn’t know you came here often…” Dean trailed off. His eyes were glued to Jared’s shoulders. He was favoring the left side and hadn’t even brought that arm up when they’d hugged. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

 

“I- Just a little. I fell wrong. It’s a little slippery out there.” Jared sipped his coffee and shook his head. “How could you tell?”

 

“A lifetime of watching people hide their pains from me.” Dean scooted closer and rested a hand gently on Jared’s shoulder. He winced. “Is that dislocated?”

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

“Let me see.” Dean began to slip Jared’s shoulder down, then looked up a bit surprised with himself. Undressing Jared in public. “Um, if you don’t mind.”

 

Jared half smiled. “I don’t, but I’ll need your help to get the coat back on. I was late because I could hardly get out of my suit.”

 

“You should’ve called and canceled. I’d understand.”

 

“You’re putting a lot of faith into your cell service in the middle of this storm,” Jared said lightly. More seriously, and quietly, he said, “I wanted to come.”

 

“It is good to see you. Even considering.”

 

Dean helped Jared free his arm, and Jared slipped the other side of the coat off himself. With tender precision, Dean prodded the area around Jared’s shoulder with his fingertips. He could feel where it was beginning to swell, and where the bone protruded wrongly from the shoulder socket… but not entirely.

 

“It’s only partially dislocated,” Dean said definitively.

 

Maia stopped where she was, holding two plates of buns. “Um.”

 

“Sorry, Maia,” Jared said. “I fell. Dean’s fussing.”

 

“I’m not _fussing_. You have a dislocated shoulder,” Dean objected.

 

“Partially,” Jared replied cheerfully.

 

“I’m with Dean on this one.” Maia set the plates down. “You oughta swim your ass to a doctor when you’re done here.”

 

“I’ll do that.”

 

Dean waited until Maia had left to scowl at Jared. “Will you?”

 

Jared took a bite out of his bun. “Mmm. I know you don’t do the pork thing anymore, but you should try yours. Their paneer masala buns are to die for.”

 

“Put that down,” Dean ordered.

 

Jared did so and wiped his right hand on a napkin. “Am I in trouble?”

 

“You’re _hurt_ , Jared.” Dean sighed and got up. “Come on.”

 

“What? To a doctor?” Jared looked outside. “Now? I have to pay, first.”

 

“Just back here.” Dean tugged on Jared’s good arm until he got up.

 

“We’ll be back in a sec, Maia,” Jared called.

 

Dean pulled Jared into a small, unisex bathroom. “Let me see. The shirt.”

 

“So forward,” Jared joked.

 

Dean pressed his lips into a line.

 

“ _Sorry_.” Jared started to unbutton his shirt. “It’s just that this isn’t that bad, as far as injuries go for me. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

 

Dean helped him slip the shirt down once it was unbuttoned, and his eyes fixed on the unnatural angle of Jared’s shoulder. He moved around to his back, brushing his fingers against the reddening flesh.

 

“It’s an anterior dislocation. How were you going to handle this?”

 

“Um, put it in a sling.”

 

“You have to get it back in the socket,” Dean insisted. He felt his chest tighten. “Were you going to try to do it yourself? Slam it against a door?”

 

“There aren’t a lot of doctors I can go to who wouldn’t want to ask some questions.” Jared shrugged his right shoulder. “Maybe _one_ , if I get in a bind. But we haven’t talked in a while.”

 

Dean shook his head. He pressed against Jared’s muscles carefully, reaching around to check how the muscles connected to his collarbone. He breathed in and out slowly, then nodded resolutely.

 

“Hold very still.”

 

“Wait… You’re not- Dean, I don’t know…”

 

“I’ve done this before. And if we wait, it’s just going to swell. We’ll have to ice it, put you on anti-inflammatory drugs, if you can get them, and then try it. It’ll hurt more and it’ll be harder to do without damaging any nerves. You definitely shouldn’t just slam your shoulder into something because you could tear something.”

 

Jared sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

 

“Be _still_ ,” Dean repeated, seriously.

 

“Doesn’t it take a lot of strength to- Unn!”

 

Swiftly, Dean gripped Jared’s back with one hand and pushed his arm up and in with the other. There was a distinctive noise, almost a pop, and it was done.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Phew.” Jared sagged forward. “No, don’t apologize. It hurts, but this will help a lot in the long run.”

 

“Now, we just need to get it in a sling.”

 

“You’re so _focused_.” Jared touched Dean’s chin and grinned. “Take a breath. Let’s finish our coffee first.”

 

“I- I’m just not used to a willing patient,” Dean admitted.

 

“I can’t say you have the best bedside manner, but I’ve dealt with worse.”

 

Jared’s smile was mesmerizing. Those plump lips curving into wickedness. His dark eyes flashing. Dean could see another one peeking out at him again, but he didn’t mind so much, with no one there to identify Jared as Brown Widow.

 

It was at that moment that Dean realized he was standing in close quarters with Jared, wet and shirtless, and he’d been completely oblivious for an embarrassingly long amount of time.

 

“Uhh, let me help you get back into your shirt,” Dean sputtered.

 

“Thanks.”

 

They emerged, and Dean was still bright red. The family who had been having dinner had gone, and the rain, while still going, had lightened slightly. Maia sat behind the counter, reading a book. She only looked up briefly.

 

“Okay, now you have to try this,” Jared demanded when they’d returned to their table. He pushed Dean’s plate closer.

 

“Do you have ice packs back at your dorm? And NSAIDs? Maybe some Icy/Hot?”

 

“We can stop at a bodega on the way back.” Jared picked up Dean’s bun and held it to his mouth. “Eat.”

 

“Alright, alright.” Dean took a bite and chewed appreciatively. His mouth filled with a thick, spiced gravy and cubes of cheese. “Hmm.”

 

He wiped his mouth. “I just want you to be okay.”

 

“I know. You’re just going to have to trust that I’ve been doing this long enough to take care of myself.”

 

“That’s what they all say,” Dean said. “But people get hurt and sick no matter how experienced, or tough, they are. It can’t hurt more to have someone help you.”

 

“That’s true.” Jared took a bite of one of the cookies that had magically refilled on the table. “I could have worse people manhandling me shirtless.”

 

Dean almost choked on his coffee. “Stop!”

 

Jared laughed and looked out the window. “Do you like this place? I’ve always liked this place.”

 

“I’m still not sure what kind of place this is. The coffee’s good, though. And they let me manhandle you in the bathroom.”

 

Jared looked back at Dean, who shrugged. “It’s sort of an Asian fusion/coffee shop. They’ve been here a few years. Maybe sometime I’ll take you to my aunts’ place. They own a bookstore/coffee shop that hosts crafting classes and things.”

 

“That sounds like fun. Maybe you can show up on time for that one.” Dean paused. “And not broken.”

 

“I won’t make any promises.” Jared pushed the cookie plate back toward Dean.

 

He took another almond cookie. “Then, I reserve the right to fuss.”

 

“I could be okay with that.”

 

As they finished their coffee and food, Jared quietly recounted the less than epic battle that had occurred before their meeting here, and Dean, to make him feel better, found a few choice examples of ungraceful injuries that he and Hank had sustained. Including some accidental bruised ribs he’d given to himself wandering around in the Monarch’s cocoon, high on an engine leak, or that time Hank had broken his tail bone running from zombies (they’d thought) and had to sit on a special butt pillow for a weeks.

 

After Dean had helped Jared back into his brown coat, and he’d donned his puffy one, they said goodbye to Maia and headed back out into a much less stormy New York, huddled together for warmth and to prevent injury on the way back to the university.


End file.
